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Thursday, 14 June 2018

Coffee Break On A Long Shift

I am listening - by which I mean absorbing - by which I mean I am becoming part of this - as though easing into the sea, arms and legs afloat, just drifting. I am tired.

Last night I was tired - but the evening air was so refreshing and my garden was there in the magic dusk, glowing with iris and rose and dots of closing day flowers and the bath-pond so little yet in its stillness infinite deep and I grew to be awake, alive, embracing.

Then it was midnight so I took a glass of dark wine to let sleep find me. Indoors was hot, I opened a window wide, then sleep did find me though twas all tumbled up, as though I had slept in storm waves.

Then it was birds shrieking, singing, it was 4.55am, sleep had fled, untraceable.

Pulled on garden clothes, went out to pour water on plants, ready for a hot day. I knew I would be at work, missing out, glad for bills paid, longing for my own land and no alarm clocks - the birds can wake me and I will find naps in hammocks, I will hunt them, feral.

So all day now I must stop to listen, to remember. I am here and here is valid.

There is learning to be done.

Gulls cry to the salt breeze, clouds drift - and where has that water travelled?

2 comments:

Have I mentioned, since (I think) my first comment years ago, that I sure like how you write? There is something about you, in you , that captures the subtler urgencies, not just of life, but of living. Sometimes it takes me a while to respond --especially this summer-- but your posts help stabilize me while I wait for more news. You are remarkable.